Marcia McCaslin's Profile:Hello all. It's March 2004--my how time flies! Time to update my profile. Well, I still think
I'm a songwriter--some days I wonder why I think that! I continue to write country tunes and delight
in great country titles. I like to rhyme things, but am not always sure it's poetry. Like to read
the poetry of others and like to comment on their efforts. I got sick and was forced into retirement;
then I got better and now have a part-time job I enjoy. Try to raise tomatoes and peppers in the 100
days of summer that we get here in Jackson Hole Wyoming. Look forward to our exchanges on The Link.

So far 709 People have Entered a Personal Profile on The Poetic Link! Click Here to see the rest of them or to Add your Own Personal Profile Now!

Below you will see ALL of the Critiques that Marcia McCaslin has given on The Poetic Link.By Clicking a Poem Title, you can view the poem that is associated with each Critique.

If you would like to view all of Marcia McCaslin's Poetry just Click Here.

Donald--I am just so thankful that you won. I've read your 'autobiography'--and am just so 'taken'
that you have devoted 100% of yourself to your craft. And this is no easy thing, but encompasses
a lot of life--your marriage and family and hobbies and crafts and neighbors and your prayer life--
all the aspects that make you "you". I cannot speak--I am speechless--in the presence of this poem
which is so deep and human at the same time--and I cannot help but wonder: what kind of mind can
even think these things out to conclusion. It's past, now, the May contest. It doesn't matter
that you like or dislike what I say--but just wanted you to know that I have to seek you out and
read--even if sometimes I may not understand it all. I have to. Your mind is compelling. Be
assured, my spirit understands much that my mind does not. Wonderful peek. Marcia

Edwin--you are so human--you have made a real fan out of me. I love the simplicity of language
(which I said before) mixed the complexity of fresh originality that leads me down a path I've
never been before. That, to me, is the sign of a true poet and a true honest-from-the-gut writer.
(Which is what I love). I love new ideas and new ways of expressing the oldest of feelings--perhaps
the most common of human feelings. This you have done--to the delight of this reader. You make me
see my very flawed self in your writing--and YET--leave enough 'good stuff' to feel some honor
as well. Very compelling, Edwin. Thanks. Marcia

Thomas--I read this at the beginning of the month--and now, again, at the beginning of the next month,
I have the same feelings. Your compassion and your questions shout at us from betwen the lines.
You separate bone from marrow in each of us (readers). We are probably all guilty--but yet from
your viewpoint, I see it--the whole complex issue--in such a clear light. I am ashamed of the
secret (untold) feelings I've always had, but you have exposed me and in my heart of hearts I am
sorry. I see these people you describe going up and down my street all the time--walking to small
jobs, riding their wheeled 'pedal' vehicles with the white flag waving at the rear. I have seen
them come to the lunch counter (years ago)--alone, one month, and in love and with someone the next--
making blushy plans to get married. And marry they do. "The palm, so creased, redirects the dark
storm." "offspring cry out from the simplest omelet--from the deep heart of man, that beast in
each of us. There is just no suppressing nature. I look at the grass and pops up through rocks
and black fabric and lives in spite of Round-up--and I know. Our Creator will not be suppressed--
in you, in me, nor in these you so lovingly shine on. Great work. Thanks. Marcia

Edwin--a wonderful 3-part film, complete with the Norman Rockwell paintings which capture every
emotion known to man, and the colorful picture of red SUV and navy blue uniform. Everybody--high
and low--staring at their tickets, planning what they'd do with all that 'won' money. And tomorrow,
tomorrow...all of us share in the hope, the disappointment, the ensuing hope because there's always
tomorrow's draw. I do, if I may say so again, liken your work to Norman Rockwell--and that's not
bad company to be in! The emotion grips us--the universality says--"this is me too"--I'm this and
I'm that. I've felt that way. Crisp--short--but packing a GREAT wallop! Thanks. Marcia

Edwin--you not only have given us a very descript physical jungle--but also a spiritual jungle--where we are
but do not belong--where we have to accept responsibility for things our brother did but for which we too
by our very existance are responsible. The jungle's sweetness--and a curious spider hold me spellbown throughout this extremely good read. Sensual, sexual--outside your front door. I do not live in a jungle,
but I too experience the sensual sexual world of creatures outside MY front doors--the birds and bees, as it
were--the cats and dogs and earthworms and ladybugs--b ut I hadn't realized all this until you made me look
at it through your poem. An excellent poem--ending rain washes me clean--something every person I think longs
to feel. Makes me think about the creatures too--cats, dog, horses, cows, who all "wash" their babies, head to
toe clean with their tongues--and how the young love it, cherish it, want to recapture it all their lives.
A very universal theme in most creative, fresh language. Best. Marcia

Edwin--an excellent commentary on a photograph which I can relate to with every fiber of my being. I like the
simple language that presents the complex thinking process--and I can put myself in your place on each and
every line. I like the 'simplicity'--that really isn't simple, because even at the end, there are unanswered
questions to which you allude no answers exist. What a paradox--huh? But life/love is like that. The idea
is really 'new' and creative--if anything under the sun can be considered new. I think your next-to-last S.
is really a 'universal' quest--we look at the 'last photo' of someone, something to see if we can sense the
foreshadowing. But rarely is it there. "Faded film' 'unknown actors'--interest only to archivists (& those
of us who search those answerless answers. Good job. I enjoyed! Best--Marcia

zen---bravo! Wonderful fresh, insightful piece--a really orignal tour of that garden--and able. Love the fact
that everything is in lower case--yet, the whole thought process is definitely upper case. There is color here,
and story and remembrances, and originality--all the components of a fabulous piece. I think IMHO, this is real
literature/poetry, and I loved it. Good luck! Marcia

Hi Edwin. I haven't seen your name before--but that doesn't mean such since I'm here and gone again. This is
wonderful--deep, terribly creative, and not hard to understand at all--just gives us a tour through your imagination and poetic reference. I love this, its tremendous movement--up and back and up again--you and this
stone, sort of hooked together for all eternity--for better or worse. Your last line--zenith of despair--just
sums it up wonderfully, and all the tumblings in between keep us in a suspenseful mode. Good work. I enjoyed
this immensely. Best. Marcia

Hi Desire of the morning's rose-- Nancy Anne Korb---how fresh this is to my ear. I'm beginning to learn that
poetry (from the heart and not terrib ly contrived) is like a fingerprint---like no one else's and this is what
this work reminds me of--a fresh touch, a fresh perspective. Nice rhymes too, and cadence. Being a songwriter,
I always look/listen for cadence and this one has wheels--just moves us nicely along.
In my humble opinion, let's don't be embarrassed about anything--a pseudonym, or a vanity publishing like poetry.com (I've only heard)--hey just express yourself and let the free thoughts flow. You have them pretty
well channeled into nice rhymes and pictures--I just say: more power to you. Keep 'em comin'-- I'll look for
you (under any name) again! Best, Marcia

Edwin--(starting over because what I just wrote left the screen and is nowhere to be found now.) I like the
vantage point you have given us here concerning death and I like your ending REJOICE! (And yes, I will).
I am the naked musician
playing eternal chords
absolutely love these 2 beginning lines, Edwin. You give us an absolute yearning for the rest of the poem. "no
responsibility save to end everything you know" okay-least we know where we stand!
A fine poetic description of everything we always wanted to know about death---but were afraid to ask!
Marcia

Nancy Anne--In my humble opinion, you definitely have the talent. It's easy to discern you have the desire.
Having a passion for something is 9/10ths of it, you know. You display the passion and the love for words.
You use interesting metaphors, poetic language, and good alliteration (Crade/chaos/create/children), good sense
of rhythm and rhyme. AND, you are definitely among friends on The Poetic Link. You keep writing--I'll keep
reading. Marcia

DeniMari---there you go again, you Old Soul you! This is excellent--understandable for me and opening the door
to YOU wide open. Accept the fact that we're here. It is simple in presentation--has a kind of "take me or leave me" attitude.
We blow into the world,
like old gypsy souls
in the winds of March.
Love this opening sentence--very poetic, yet matter of fact at the same time. "old gypsy souls"--yes, that's the
way I see you. Wise way beyond your years--always in a little pain, but dealing with it and writing it out of
your body and soul. "courage to retrace our past" yes, ma'am, that's exactly what it takes--and that's what
you apparently have plenty of. "step by step in our own direction"--what a mind you display for us. Great
writing--keep it up--I'll keep reading. Marcia

Well, Regis, I guess it is "out there" but it had a flow of consciousness--I could discern the Planner of the
Poem behind it all and that's why I'm commenting. I liked it in its "out there-ness". Enjoyed the pointers
at some physics and high-math. I don't have to understand things exactly, to enjoy them. (There I am in a
nutshell). Thanks for posting this complex piece. Marcia

Cathy--I know I'm a 'late-comer' on critiqueing this month, but I am stunned by the simplicity
and originality of this sentiment--and how universal it is--but it's almost like "no one" actually
SAYS it--but you are undressing your deepest sentiments for us--and saying I have always wished for
a special friend like you--that cares how I am feeling. It's almost like asking: Will you be my
best friend.--except in 'lover's language' that is so from-the-heart. It almost has the innocence
of childhood interwoven. I'm guessing that most of us readers are wishing with all our hearts that
you are indeed speaking to US.
Lovely sentiment--the kind that I expect to find in Heaven! Thanks for sharing. Thanks so much.
Marcia

Hi Marilyn--well, I'm the wrong person to tell you if this is a sonnet or not--I can just
barely understand the rules myself. It would be the blind leading the blind. Before I
start, though (leading you I know not where--teehee) What's a "nit"---is it perchance
the front half of picking? If so, here I go--if not, clue me in!
This is just beautiful writing and the passion really stirs me. I can feel you just wanting
to turn those winsome grasses into something we can feel with our bare feet and smell with
our noses. If you ask me, a passion for something is 9/10ths of it. Your misty cloven glen is
an example of your wanting us to see through your eyes. And I do see it, and I feel it, and
more important, I can almost hear the breathing of the poet. Moonlight romps and sips of nectared
wine--wandering glints of sunshine (that's beautiful) Lolling aside a silver stream--we can hear
the water "bathing our lips" never heard anything like that before. That inspiration is welling
and overflowing in this poem. Sheer waters? whiffs of cowslips--that's where part of the fragrance
comes from.
You know what, Marilyn--I think I would leave out "Why can I not pen of these things?" because you
just did pen of them wonderfully, and you go on to "pen" them after that--I truly love your quill
and ink set--it brings in the Shakespeareaneankl;hkl; (however you spell him) era, and I love it
esp. since we ALL use computers--and there you are with your quill! Have you checked your inkwell
lately? No, just kidding. Yearns to be limned with shades of violet--you see what I mean? Yearns
tells us more about the passions that strive. You've really put that across in this poem. Now, it
would my suggestion to keep your last line--it ties front to back, as it were. And is held together
by your sincere yearning. (was that a nit?--was it even close?) I'm not going to rest until I find
out. Lovely, lovely piece! Marcia

O Thomas--I can see and feel where you are. On the 6th of May, as I sat critique-ing and trying
to drum-up a great song title, I remembered my own Mom's passing. I sat there holding her hand
and telling her of all the old times that were so special. But she was "reading" something" with
her eyes or watching Jesus explain to her that she HAD to come with Him now, that she couldhn't stay
and further nurture and guide her little Marcia that she had seen as a 16 year old for the last
several years.
I don't cry, and neither must you--since your Mom is in a great place, (maybe bragging to my Mom
ab out you--and My Mom is bragging to her about me). (that's probably it.) But you "do her proud
through your poetic grieving, and I do my Mom proud through the re-telling. Someday, Tom, we'll
be the ones that our children will "make up" stories about. We do become greater post mortem, do
we not? Just laffing. And thanks for posting. Marcia

Well, Mark, your poetry always exposes the bone--for us to look at, no matter which way
it was cut! I'm trying to get "in sync" with your feelings, so I can relate somehow. Sometimes,
I can, and sometimes it's harder. Please...bear with me while I sprout my wings!
You are the model, You naughty elastic clay.
Well, I'm not sure I understand your ending--
Wham
Take this gist
In a circle
To your thera-
pist.
But I certainly do like the effect--the breaking of thera--from pist--tells us a lot. Your inner rhyme
did not escape my "quote careful unquote" eye--just laughing here.
There's cynacism and sone anger here. I don't know you well enough to know why. But it piques
my interest. But enough about me. Marcia

Valene--This is a beautiful poem with all the right, sparkling, "purely spun" words that it needs--
but the one line:
flutter, flutter;
ten-thousand tongues
ruffle the spirit.
in the midst of flight,
cellophane heavens
soar out the mouth.
kissed of anguish
the blue sky cries,
"why do you not look upon me with lust anymore?"
the lips ignite
songs triumphant,
and the wind stirs,
and the sails glide.
"why do you not look upon me with lust anymore?"
would be so much better served to be two lines:
"why do you not look
upon me with lust anymore?"
Don't you think? I halfway think this was an oversight because of the way it obviously sticks out.
Everything else is brilliant--grand, fluid poetry that sings its way into my imagination.
You have so much going for you here--but the one line needs to be shortened to fit the rest
of the format.
"time trickles time"--excellent, and of course it does, if you just think aBOUT IT.
"the tongue of angels" is alos an excellent line.
purely spun words
birthed from the womb
of naked light.
This last verse could not be any better. It is poetic, "pure" "true" and "engaging" all at the
same time. A Wonderful read.
Marcia

Hi Mark--well, what we all live for on this site is feedback, feedback, feedback. This really speaks to me,
and the best part is your ending "Watching me watching her go." Remember the song: I'll Be Lookin' Back To
See If You'll Be Lookin' Back To See..if I'm lookin' back to see if you'll be lookin' back at me? I can
still hum the tune and it's been a hundred years--maybe more. Laff.
You've touched on my experience here and that's why I'm responding enthusiasticly. "watching her go, Watching
me watching her go. How much clearer could it be. How much more nostalgic could it happen for me? You'll be
a melted ice cream--pretty good, detailed description there!
ng that she would see me,
She stands out, orchid in bloom
Against a concrete empire.
Excellent S--and my favorite. The "orchid in bloom" and the "concrete empire" just say it all, in very poetic
terms.
My hair, too long and greasy
Rattles like a squeaky door
Your hair, too long and greasy--but rattles? Isn't there another word for long, greasy hair. Well, it's your
poem--if that's what you want, I'll try to wrap my poetic imagination around it--laff laff.
Getting wrong the attention
I am desperate to compel.
Yes, this sounds like a kid--"getting wrong"--a good line here to portray what a kid might think.
No longer with will or way
To congeal into some great
Adonis for her senses
Or radio she’ll tune to
I sense the "young" desperation here--or the compulsion. Well, Mark, we've all been there--done that.
Nothing unusual, except your bringing it back to our attention. (Thanks)
I've already commented on your ending which, again, takes me back to the song I first cited. A cute,
nostalgic trip into the insecurities of high school.
My Best, Marcia

Hi Mark--Well, here you're calling a spade a spade, and after a few readings through, I'm starting
to "get it".
It’s potentially amusing,
the breakdown
you find you share
with millions of others who
submerge
their banal dysfunctions
in their grocery
shopping
standing and waiting.
Is that a bandage you’re wearing
too?
Actually, I don't wear my bandage anymore because I've had time to heal, but I certainly remember
what it was like and I, too, like you, recognize the wound. This is like having what used to be
called "second sight"--seeing the concerns of people you are standing in line with at the store.
Your wife took 62%
of your memories
and still she wails with
your wound
she doesn’t notice she carries
in to bathe
her children,
yours.
Gosh, this is such a commonality--it's like every wife took 62%. I hear it all the time, but
the "real" story is more tragic than that, whether she took it or he took it.
Smile about it
and troll
the dating queues
you’ll never find her again,
all you ever wanted,
wanted, had and lost
in a half-generation snap.
Smile about it? Might as well--both sides. Troll the dating queues? I've trolled the lake, but
this must be similar. You just pass through an area and see what you hook.
No he won't find her again. Maybe it's a good thing--maybe it's bad, it's just a fact of life.
Everybody's got to face it, sooner or later. In a half-generation snap? Is that akin to a "cold snap"?
Never mind. About 10 years, right?
I know you're still
there
Rub the panel
off this
dull suburban
lottery of love gold
Come into my coma
before
I lose myself
for once and
for all.
What? There's no come-back? But he's listening, right? You know he is--there's just no comeback.
You're inviting him into your coma, before you lose yourself once and for all.
Good insight into human nature--that always draws me. Good story telling. The lottery of love.
Guess it is. Thanks for tickling me into my past. Marcia

Actually, Regis, I think it came from a strong truth--as strong as that North Dakota wind
you remember. It reads easily and kept up my interest all the way. I couldn't help but
think of John Wayne as you were lamenting your "leaning self"--you remember how distinctive
his walk us--always like he was leaning into some prairie wind. Maybe just like you.
You've managed some great internal rhymes and an easy-rolling feel to the whole piece: glad/sad/
mad--I like the "mad" the most because it makes that long-ago trip really believable--puts me
there. "rounded mound"--you need another 't' is sitting. (s)ilent (s)ages (e)ndure (e)very
(e)lements (e)vents----I see....who tolerate me. You seem to have included everything that's
important in your life, a little of the past, a little of the present, a little philosophy and
"thinking out loud"---and a real sense of self-acceptance at end--a sort of so-what--here I
am. I'm wondering about your next to last line: seeking "then" flexibility and strength
...did you mean seeking "the". When I type, I have a heavy "k" finger so lots of words have
a k somewhere in them. One little side-note about this piece, which I thoroughly enjoyed,
is why not just call it Leaning. I remember someone mentioning about prose last month--
but they mention it to me too, and it doesn't seem to make much difference in the feeling that
comes across. Let me know what you think. Best, Marcia

DeniMari
I read your poems last month but just didn't have time to comment. It interests me about "the
thread" that runs through a poet's fabric. Yours is sad with a little anger thrown in, but
at the same time, I feel that you are expressing this WAY beyond your years. I have quite a bit
on this one to comment on--but the following S. is the one that, I have to say, I like best
because it reveals most:
In the air the purest denial,
a red flag that you salute
as your rush by - as if it's existence is
invisible to your eye.
"the purest denial"--smacks of the current psychology of counselling where someone says YOU ARE!
and if you say I'm NOT--then you're in denial. And it leaves you no place to go but deeper
into your own truth. Which isn't bad, I guess. (I think that its existence is not possessive).
S 1 - the ultimate misconception, done, to my mind, extremely well. (Also love your title!)
No Life Courtesy Counter? But how can that be--everybody has a courtesy counter. This verse
would be humorous under other circumstances. As it is, it is just the bare-bones truth--
and you've called everybody's bluff.
Tricking your mind to accept Less is More. That is priceless and is a gem of wisdom you seem
to have casually thrown in. We've all heard--maybe we've all bought it, but you aren't.
And your star, lacking in dreams
is held in the palm of your hand,
while you quietly drift beyond another patch
painting black and white rainbows in the sand.
The last S. is sad. Imagine your star, lacking in dreams! that you hold in the palm of
your hand. Your anger and frustration seem spent here "while you quietly drift beyond another
patch--painting black and white rainbows in the sand.
Black and white seems to represent all the hope that has vanished now. Black and white
rainbows are worse than no rainbows at all. And even if they were tinted--they are in the
sand, which shifts and washes away.
You have done an excellent job here. But I wish life were better for you. Thanks for
posting. Marcia

Marilyn--first of all, whatever you (& Claire) are drinking, I'll have the same!
Here is Fred again in his most spritely-elk-y self-y. See? Now it's happening to me!
So he admits he was twitterpated--til he discovered "his love" was mostly bow-legged. How
cute is that! The last few poems I've critiqued have been mostly serious--and I am sure
ready for this one! (addlepated is what my online dict. says) Maybe it was intentional.
(Maybe it was what you drank). It's the acorn beer--it just occured to me--you went up
there in your fur bikini--got sloshed--and wrote a sequel to Fred. Fred is really cute.
Let Claire talk you into a whole series! Laffs--Marcia

Mark--”to peck their imperatives” (?) How cute is that! Lots of fun stuff here--your Now! and
your “Double”--yup, gives us “the full whack of it”, alright! No doubt about that. Without
saying it in your first S., I see hair standing up straight and a dehydrated body trying to get
it all together again--your mint leaves ‘freshen’ the whole verse--your espresso does what it does the best!
Ah, now, “Resurrected”-- “folks”--that brings it down to include everybody--stagger/stage
daylight/duties. Grey lumps and clump paint the perfect picture here for me. still only
“dreaming” of “preening”--twitch, lurch, peck--yes, we’ve discussed that.
In your third S., you are telling us that, by golly--or whatever expression YOU use, it’s not so
bad--and you’re going to have another stab “every tomorrow”!
Clean and narrow on the page. Title is “up-front” with the reader. Good job.
Marcia

Hi Jane--I first read this poem a week or so ago and it's been churning around in
my mind ever since. The reason for it is, I believe, your poetic slant on human
nature itself. Truth to tell, it's the startling white flowers that keep the scene
enchanted from one day to the next, because white flowers DO startle on moonlit
nights when nothing else even shows except in shadow. So that was a marvelous picture
for me to hold whenever I see your name.
"The rain heavy" is a mood-setting beginning, and like the "once upon a time" we
settle in for a good read.
I see this person naked and face-up among the grass--water, water everywhere--nothing
is much wetter than wet grass and wet hair! They just don't "whoosh" dry out.
It's the next S. that pricks at my imagination. Yes, I see the neighbors checking their windows
"for the seep, for the glimmer of drops"---but neighbors being neighbors and people being people,
there's the curiosity of it on their parts. Just checking the windows--uh-huh. But seeing you--
and perhaps the absurdity of it all, the "letting life soak you" part of it, the courage and
downright audacity of it--could...just could...make the peeker out the window "wish" he/she
had had the guts to do it. Perhaps it's something you've always wished to do--and perhaps it's
something everyone wishes they could do.
YOu haven't mentioned any color but white, but my mind sees alot of green and silver-heavy rain,
some grey clouds, more silver raindrops--and perhaps a mirror image of the sky right there in
your overspilling navel. Write on!
Marcia

Hi C--(I know I'm running behind and in circles which brings me directly in front of
your poem here).
This reader feels as though she's been taken through a physics/history class in six
well-formatted stanzas. Your first verse starts with the super-large end of things
and the last seems to downsize to the tinier, immediate circle of where we/I live.
You say each circle completes because a new one must begin. This reminds me of "teeth".
Watch on the news last night that we are now able to "seed" a tooth so that a new tooth
will grow--at least in mice and we assume...laugh. So then I thought, the reason baby
teeth fall out is because the larger tooth is pushing it out---thus your circles that close
because a new one MUST begin, even though each renewal DOES become lost in nature's law of
repetition (recycling also???)
I am quite caught in how tight this is. Lots of us could say it in 3 times the verses, but
you have allowed us to "speed-read" all of these thoughts and notions in a short piece. Your
temples of Apollo built on faults speaks volumes about so much of what mankind does--and sort
of points me toward the biblical reference to build our houses on a rock, etc. etc. (Is "affaires"
a typo, or is there a different word I don't know about?--)
Without saying it per se, you have referenced a couple of times that water seeks its own level,
thus the "poetic physics" that always draws me in. Jordan's Quantum poem is an example as well.
This is short because time rushes on and I have miles to go before I sleep. Best to you,
Marcia

Hi Lynda--I saw this poem some while ago, but had so many other things I was trying
to do--we all know how that is. Last I looked, it was really doing well on the
poem contest. I hope it continues.
This is impactful, to say the least. Your ((((Pound))))) just grabs our attention
and we feel this piece as much as we read it. But then the in-between parts or
so soft/hard, contemplative/non-contemplative that you have made me almost feel
like I'm there. Heaven forbid.
Down to the rock marble of my bones,
There is also (IMO) some very skillful writing going on here, besides the most creative idea of
it all.
Some savage sequence,
A chipping search for
What exists beneath.
No history,
No memory
Defines me.
I am as yet not.
The staccato sentences add to the pain/sharpness/searching aspect.
The cast off shards of
Broken evidence.
Yes--this is one way of saying it!
Thick onion layers of skinned emotion,
Smooth sedations of toil
Diffuse the crying oil.
I particularly like the "onion layers".
In my wombed tomb
Love the inner rhyme here--almost a touch of humor, although it is not a humorous piece.
Birth,
So bloody painful,
To guarantee the death of innocence.
guaranteeing the death of innocence. Isn't that the truth! There are so many things
in the natural order of this universe that guarantee the outcome, but this is stated
in a particularly captivating way.
Counting the consequences
Of time.
Excellent ending---leaves us still in a state of expectancy, but cleverly done. Thanks
for a carefully written piece. Good luck to you in the contest. Marcia

Mark--I think I have just discovered--or re-discovered you. I'm pretty sure you were here a couple
years ago when I was here also--and maybe I've grown some, but I find this riveting.
Gone
Give us space between the hours
Or time between the miles
To take the desert to our water
Our teary sovereignty
The thing that really inspires me about this piece is it "almost" down to earth enough
to let the sand sift through my fingers--and yet each S. has a "gem" of pure (IMO)poetic
stance to knock my socks off! I was pretty "through" for last month, really--what with a
life to try to run in some acceptable direction--Laugh--and then I found this. Take the
desert to our water--that did it for ME!
Make a ready wit our anchor
While fingers walk our lips
To where all winds fall in a pool
Of sudden yesterdays
"wit our anchor"--(like a word explosion)--fingers walk our lips--wow---to where all winds fall
in a pool of sudden yesterdays. All four lines here: cut my mustard.
Ride naked on fallen bridges
Swing from a snapping vine
Teach me grace to lose everything
In emptiness of days
Same here--bold images--oh if we all could learn the grace to lose everything. Now that's grace.
In emptiness of days--almost incomprehsible and certainly feared, but contemplated here just the
same.
When you recite the universe
You won’t remember me.
Where do you go to find these expressions? To the outer-reaches, I guess. Well, I'm glad I stopped
by--this is my kind of poem. It's a recipe for living as I see it--because we do this and then it's/we're
gone. But oh what a mark you make in the meantime. Good Luck. Marcia

Hi Cathy--
BIGGER THAN BIG IS GOD INTO ETERNITY FOREVER,
How wonderful is this poem and the above line which is the centerpiece of your theme, although
it isn't placed in the center. All your words of Praise for our God shows me so much WHO you
are and how you think in your inner being, and HOW you were raised. One can feel your soul
rapturing at God's Creation, and the fact that it is YOUR speck of the Island Shore--you
are sharing your overflowing cup with the readers. That one can feel so grateful is perhaps
the diamond in the gold here. Actually, sometimes I tune into the Catholic masses on Chanel
61 here just to hear the a capella (sp??) singing of the men or women, and I can hear this
poetic expression in the same melodic way.
I think you have used all the words there are to describe the heavenliness of this place and
your place therein. How fortunate you are! There is just something irrisitible about praise
and thanksgiving--it gathers people around you as surely as a light or flame draws a moth.
I am picking out some of my favorites--both for the pictures you draw and for the poetic alliteration
you have enticed our ears with.
majestic moments - speck of the Island Shore--atmosphere lets our worries
and frets fall and melt so free,--when the sun rises and falls,
God speaks to us Spiritually by his finger painting
colors separating his Heavenly walls.000000 This is especially poignant and fresh since you don't
hear of the sun "falling" as you have it here--but when you're around the water, it must seem indeed
that it falls right off the edge of the earth!
The twinkles of the stars are his Holy Angels,
the moon His Glorious Crown.000000000000000000This is describing a beautiful, grand church--only this
is outdoors. I can feel your love for Him!
The waves dressed in transparent white
are God’s edging of His lace on His Gown.
This is a prayer, Cathy--or a hymn--and includes your heart. It is much appreciated by this
reader. We are told to: if there be anything good or holy or pure-l-think on these things--and that
is exactly what you have done here. Such a fine tribute to your family's beautiful "speck" of
this earth. My Best--Marcia

Hi Joanne--when I saw this (bright and early for me) this morning, I hoped, really hoped that
you weren't going to take out "my splendor hunger"--as I noted was suggested by a reader, because
splendid hunger is not what you're saying here--and splendor hunger thrilled THIS reader, so I
am glad to see it stayed! Tell you what, I see the little changes--flickeringings was a typo,
so no biggie, but taking the "a" out before mate or marauder reads better and says more.--(as a sparkling
adornment--) reads better as well. Such tiny tiny changes, but that's what re-writing entails as
we veteran re-writers know all too well. Again, your two wings are in place, which I loved right off
the bat--and there you go, my Second Opinion--laugh.
Now Joanne, I am going on a weekend trip -- which is a bad time for The Poetic Link, I know, but it
has to happen. I'll be back Sunday night in time to take part in whatever's happening then. Just so
you know. Best--Marcia PS--splendor hunger and marauder still light my candle!

Joanne--what a gift you have and you give it to all of us so generously. I looked
on my sheet about an hour ago and you weren't there--now you're slipping away! Well,
guess that's an old tape by now--laugh.
Well, first off, your FORM is in the shape of two wings! How splendid is that! And the
words you've chosen (lyrics really) are as light and 'airy' as the insect you're describing
for us. "the slight toss of your head" and "eyes seem to sweep this space"--I've probably
said this before, but you've created a mini-Disney movie--we want to name this exquisite and
playful creature. I think it's the head and eyes reference. "Flickerings"--the word almost
sprouts wings itself and "mate or marauder"--I really took two looks when I came to marauder--
what a word for this delicate little creature--does he REALLY marauder (I asked myself...) Well,
yes, I suppose to a mate it could look like a marauder. How funny. Sparkling adornment--aesthetic
angel--Disney would've had this little guy on the big screen for sure!
Ah--my favorite--I wonder if you divine another life form. Glad you brought this up--because our
cat does this all the time. She watches someone standing behind my chair, and her eyes look this
way and that as if someone is moving. I never knew how to describe that before, really, but you
have done it for me. I was really amazed when I read that part--is it physics or metaphysics.
Maybe a little of both.
YOur "splendor hunger"--how aptly put, and we know you do have that, Joanne--and I have a hunger
always to read more and more as your spirit rises from the pages. You have made this reader
extremely happy. Thank you. (& nitey nite) Marcia

Hi Marilyn--
I read this eagerly as though each line were a frame in a movie. It has a mood and a 'feel'
just as all your poems do. In fact, weather 'colors' a lot of your writing--sometimes
those colors are 'raw' and 'chill' and never forget 'wind', but you write them here just
as surely as a painter would brush the cold upon a canvas.
A gelid and heartless wind invaded her
gaunt sanctuary. Its gust, razor sharp,
sliced and pricked her sparsely clad body.
She needed to solve this problem but tonight
she was just too tired, too cold, too hungry.
This is the S. I like the best. (Had to look up gelid--but it's a good word to use here,
and maybe I should have figured it out from "gel"? her gaunt sanctuary rips at us as we
watch. gust, razor sharp, sliced and pricked/sparsely all good picture 'feeling' words.
As soon as I read "too tired"--it was like the prosidy music that comes along in films
just before the bad thing happens.
"I guess I'll go home" she thought, I can make amends
but first I need some sleep." She began to feel a shawl
of warmth caress her body and her eyes felt
lead heavy. She hugged her knees to her
chest sitting in an upright fetal position.
And when she says she needs some sleep. Being raised in a northern climate, I was always
being told--never go to sleep--never go to sleep--you'll freeze and die. Anyway, the
handwriting was on the wall for this child as soon as I read that. Now, Marilyn--I'm sure
Wayne will tell you (I call him my Punctuation Coach-- and I'm darned lucky to have one!)
"I guess I'll go home," she thought. "I can make amends
but first I need some sleep." The commas I don't know about, but she should have quotes
around her words--just as she should have a warm coat around her body! Between Seventeen
and Eighteen is a real 'pull' for most of us--whoooa--because we're all amazed we lived
through that year ourselves! Very nice read--pulls lots of empathy and sympathy from the
reader and uses the right choices of words. THanks for the break--I needed to get away
from my uploading problems! Best, Marcia

Tom--
This is so well done, I am stuck between breaths.
THe language, incredible--fantastically poetic,
has the ring of sadness, and yet, of course,
your ending is not sad. Well, it is and it's
not at the same time.
I see from opposing shore
Her anticipated arrival:
Fair thee well mama-door.
This is the happy ending, for her at least, as I see
it--her anticipated arrival--and mama-door. (Only you.)
I am sure, being as careful as you are and as articulate,
that you intended to use: Fair tee well. But my dictonary
online states it as "fare-thee-well"--I have even learned
that all online dictionaries are not created equal, possibly
because of their create-ors. Anyway, this is a fine effort
and will stick with this reader, probably forever--since
forever's not that far away. (IMO) Thanks. Marcia

Dear Joanne--I have to respond now--2 hrs. ago you were up near the top. Now you are nearly at
the bottom--I HATE THIS PART ABOUT THE SITE--it's like "time (nor the Poetic Link) waits for no man.
Gheeze--I just had to fix supper--that's all! Anyway, this is beautiful--and really touches me
where I live because I have wondered what I, too, should leave as instructions. No one ever thinks
to leave 'beautiful' instructions--it's just blah blah blah blah. The old legalese--etc.
"Upon the Lord let all the hope of Israel rely." oh I am taken aback. I am breathless in the face
of this writing. I am stamped into the rock of this reality. !! We must be kindred spirits--I can
see no way around it. (now here I am commenting on your additional notes--but, as I've said before,
not only to you but others I have commented on---we ARE our poetry--just as we ARE our critiques--and
just as we ARE our "additional notes." I often think--when the Lord sits me down and asks: ok--what
are the premises of your reality--I will start with blah blah blah and continue into blah blah blah
and end with: THe Lord Our God-the Lord of Israel--is One. Because everything hangs thereupon. (for
me In my humble opinion.)
Your first verse:
Dress me in
my moss green sweater,
my mother’s pearls,
clean jeans and soft socks.
is so elemental--I can see you, Joanne--as I can see myself. Nothing fancy, please, just "comfort
clothes" and add the sentiment of mother's pearls. You come from such depths, it makes me cry.
Place
a granite coffee pot at my head
pine cones at my feet,
grandmother’s “Blue Monday Poems"
in my hands.
I know we are not supposed to do this (but I'm so mad at this site, I will!!!) a granite coffee
pot--now what kind of memories are entwined in that--I suppose it's a future poem or perhaps a
past one that I have not read) Pine cones. Oh, me too. Me too. I wrote a story once: Save A
Green One For Me--and it was to this same effect--when it's all over, the green things (I consider
pine cones to be in that bunch) those are the things that were important.
Your grandmother's writings--I think she is smiling from heaven at her "little granddaughter" who
followed in her footsteps.
Sea water, enough to cover--sounds like a recipe. In this case: hmmmmm. (reader laughs).
I confess I haven't read Ps. 131 lately--and if I do it now, this whole thing will dissolve from
my screen, so will read it afterward, but the idea is there--and I am taking notes because I may
have to plagiarize when I get ready to do "mine". !
Oh, the picture-thing is funny-==and I'll tell you why. I keep wanting a "great glamour shot" of
myself for the ob. column--and everything turns out to be terrible--and I think perhaps, the dog's
nose (or moon) might just say it all. I will keep this in mind as I struggle for the perfect 'shot'.
Musicians, if available:
red-headed woodpeckers,
Pacific tree frogs,
rain.
This is too funny. Yes, wouldn't we all love musicians--but in the event we can't get musicians--
well, yes, red-headed woodpeckers would be nice--or if we can't get those, the frogs--or rain.
I thank God for you, Joanne. I don't care how 'strange' it sounds. I'm at the age where I can
thank God for whatever-the-heck-I want-to! Thanks for this wonderful poem. (You realize it makes
it hard to 'choose'. Oh well--I can face hard choices! Your friend--Marcia

Gosh, Sherri--I want to say you have your mother's gift--but we all know you have your very own.
This takes my breath away--another winner for sure. Some of my favorite concepts here are:
Lemon trees burdened with spring’s
first blossoms blessed the afternoon air
This contradiction in terms--or opposites is really stunning--burdened/blossoms/blessed
“Welcome-stranger-have-we-met-before”
smile pierced my soul
Right here, we really realize what's going on--piercing your soul (pierced mine!)
lost you in the haze of the past
We are protected against everything but time, I guess. Nicely put.
you remembered your childhood but not mine
We sipped cool lemonade and yearned to
connect hearts and souls
so much emotion here in these 3 lines. YOu know she wants to connect hearts and souls--but
she just can't quite get there.
. You recalled someone
with my name…
You see, there are so many wonderful lines throughout, it would be impossible to choose. And your
approach is unique, as well.
wind whipped prairie, I searched your
face and found my spirit
Another really beautiful phrase, with the alliteration, not overpowering, only enhancing the thought.
You gave me a gift you didn’t know
you had.
These treasures come from the 'deep, wise' you--they just seem to bubble up from somewhere and
blaze their trails across the page, don't they?
Can you see that I’m still crying?
I think you've hit on a universal feeling here. When tragedy or even the normal "dying from old age"
happen, we tend to cry in different ways for years--not always tears, but sometimes just a groaning
in our spirit. But God must have intended this event to expand our spirits--perhaps that's part of
why we cry--we are being expanded, a little like giving birth, we are expanded beyond what we think
we can stand, but that's the way it is intended and I don't believe death is happenstance. Very
nice, Sherri--Good Luck--Marcia ;+)

Hi Sherri--several things really appeal to me about this short poem: I'm learning (from folks who
know--laugh) that even though the syllables are right and the line-number is right, it isn't necessarily
haiku or even senyru--and so I just agree with Wayne--just write it in this form--and title it,
and it's a three lined poem.
Of course, the title falls right into the bin of s's that you've got going here--and s's are the right
sounds for all the words you have listed here. In fact 'of' and 'on' are the only two words that don't
fall into the 's' or 'r's category--and yet, they are two (prepositions???) (It's been over 50 yrs.
since I took an English class--laugh again). Anyway, the two propositions that share the 'o'.
sizzling/steak/scent/symphony/summer/sounds/sun/ray(s)/arm(s). I think it's the sizzling steak scent
that involves my nose right away--and then I'm like Pavlov's dog--I'll just let it go at that!
These are fun, aren't they--obviously for you too! Good job. Thanks for submitting. Marcia

Hi Erzahl--(it's me again--hope you don't mind!) The middle line 'makes' this poem for me--with
its metaphorical shoulders of mountains--actually I've never read a piece with mountains personified
before--but it's a great idea and make s a refreshing 3 lines poem. I know syllables didn't allow
you to say runs to the open sea--but it's BETTER, it's just 'tighter' and more like the poetry
you are representing here. The hidden rivulet, even though it's hidden, we, the reader, can see this,
like by some "magic vision"--we see, and is so appropriate to what happens in nature--the little
rivulets disappear for a time and then pop up somewhere else. We have those in Wyoming also--
little streams that absolutely go underground for miles and then pop back up, so I can relate very
well with your first line. Again, your middle line is the 'metaphorical masterpiece' that draws me
irrestibly to this piece. Thanks for another great submission to keep fresh reading always ahead of
me. !! Marcia

Sherri--like mother like daughter--I'm sure you're sick of that one! laugh. This poem is great fun,
and from one who is on social security and medicare--and gravity has done terrible things to my
body (haha), I will only say: Good for you--and best of luck!!. Ah, gravity--that physical reality
that makes us stay on this earth. Without it--well you know what the smart say! You will defy
senility, and I so hope you do--at least as long as you can. You may find that it's nice to have
social security there (so you can do a few naughty things that you wouldn't be able to otherwise--
but you can talk to your Mom about that maybe...). The ending was such a surprise to this reader--a
comedy really. Such great fun. Aptly titled. Professionally executed. Very very fun.
Think I'll get rid of my mirror too--not that it does that much good with my eyes getting older than
dirt--but at least I look in it--see no wrinkles--see a 25 yr. old with much wisdom--no scars--
no spot--no blemish--just God's perfect creation. Well, he must have planned it that way.
Spotlessly-unwrinkled-ly yours, Marcia

Hello Stephen (again, hello) This is probably the most emotionally transparent poem I have ever read.
I cannot NOT resond. If I could say "the" word or do "the" thing that would carry you across this
terrible hour, I would--but none of us have ever figured it out. They call it "five stages of grief"
but I don't know...either the five stages are really long--or else there are more stages.
I've had a season of joy,
Followed by a season of sorrows,
Where she has gone,
I will surely follow.
The first line pulled me right in, and the second reads a little like Ecclesiastes--I can surely follow
this reasoning, since I've had my own seasons of the same. We call them seasons, but the sorrow-ones
can seem more like years. The 'tilt' of your sorrows/follow half-rhyme drives home the awful pain.
It works like prosidy in a film, where the dissonant bass notes preceed the "bad scenes." On the other
hand, I don't think this was on purpose--more, just grief working its way out in any way it can.
S2 is really beautiful, haunting, inspired and a gift to all who read, even though we feel the
season of your heart, we still appreciate the poet's gift.
"so easy to remember"---both a blessing and a curse!
Waiting for a thunderbolt of reason,
Arms now outstretched,
For a lightening strike of truth,
Waiting for those answers, those reasons from heaven, arms outstretched, similar to the pain and
plea of the crucifixion.
At first I thought you meant "lightning", but reading further, I think it was a play on the words--
you want the light-en-ing of answers, of truth to ease your burden. Now, if that's what you meant,
that is superb!
I think your use of 'opposites' is most effective--how she's gone--...but so close. In poetry (as well
as in grief) I do believe we can have it both ways.
I will keep the faith,
After my own fashion,
Never to forget her utter love and passion.
Ending with the wonderful, compactful rhyme--fashion/passion is craft at its best--and yet, I don't
believe you are really concerned with 'craft' here--just getting those feelings out, on paper, a kind
of tribute to her, a kind of release for you--somewhere between a eulogy and breathing. My best to
you, Stephen. Time will help. Marcia

Hi Mell--wow, I am envious of her garden--and your inner rhymes and way with a story or portrait, this
is. Each line is so earth-filled, that I almost think you've been out there in the dirt yourself,
producing enough for your town. What a generous thought that is, and I think it reflects true garden-
lovers everywhere. (At one time I actually wanted to get a hit song so I could afford to buy a farm
north of Phoenix and drive produce for city dwellers who could not afford to buy--my friend & I laugh
about that dream to this day) But you have hit the nail on the head with the idea that she knows
"the sharing part is the heart of her beloved garden. Your inner rhymes shine is practically each line,
but they are so ORIGINAL and fresh. Who would have guessed: glance/plants? dew-kissed/crisp.
Her peas are pleased and her leeks peak.
This has breath, Mell--I can see the heart of this poem beating. My favorite line is the picture of
her in the wide-brimmed hat, shading the glowing sheen of her face. Kindness spills itself all over
your page.
Gleefully is such a good word for how her corn waves--it reflects the supreme generosity of the gardener
and of God who gives every good thing in its season. I can just see this corn--its wave is irristible--
I would have to stop in!
The colors have come forward too--peas are green, corn is yellow, leeks are green/white, the good
earth is dark (rich brown), the tomatoes are probably red, her hat is straw colored.
You can't help yourself, I know, but everything you write has such depth and power, stemming from a
source of knowledge, I can't get to the bottom of it--nor do I want to--I just want more to read.
Thanks and Best Wishes! Marcia

Hi Joanne! you're tickled about spring, aren't you! My heavens, I check The Link 20 times a day
and The Canticle has been on there and has almost gone off my screen. I don't like how that happens.
I think everybody should have a chance to critique the new poems, no matter how popular they are.
Mell's is right behind yours, about 3rd from the bottom, so hurry hurry!
I had to look up Canticle, although I remember it from attending the Episcopal Church, I believe--
: SONG; specifically : one of several liturgical songs (as the Magnificat) taken from the Bible
Anyway, there I have it--and a song it is. I am so conditioned. I see your name and I know I'm gonna
love it, and you have definitely made this a song with your "chorus being repeated with just a change
in the time of day. The 's's' sing, esp. in S 1, but the p's get their air-time too, with tulips/
upturned/cup/purple/praising/(s)leepily/prayers/petals
each tilted face an upturned cup
such a definite picture here--I could draw these flowers from this line alone.
of purple red or yellow gold, each
your colors are really the boldest--no pastels of summer in this line! Just the bold shout of spring.
And your blossoms have ears! Well how cute and artistic is THAT?!
o’er din of birds’
ah, we have a counter-melody going here in both "choruses".
The day's begun--the day's begun! Such excitement in song and so true of the birdsongs--they just
go wild in celebration for the morning. You have captured that here.
from petals closing over tulip eyes
Sounds to me like the tulips have no choice, once the petals close over their eyes--like: bedtime tulips!
As flickering spring songs are sung
Then your chorus again--you know, flickering is a great descriptive here--is this an "action adjective"?
I know this poem "readied me up" for spring and ushered me into the mood of it with a flourish of
color and song. I've been waiting for your April offerings to begin and am so glad I caught this
one. I'm curious how you came up with your title. If you get time or feel inclined, let me know, ok?
Thanks for Joy today! Marcia
PS--& excuse--I just noticed your clever rhyme scheme--I think the ear takes it for granted, but there
it is in all its wonderful Craft:
glistening/listening....sung/begun.....deeply/sleepily......arise/eyes....&.....sung/done. Well done!MM

Hi Sherry--you're slipping down my list--dammit, wish it wouldn't DO that!
Please God, I pray, protect my loved ones
This is the crux--and the reader knows it's a writer who has "lived some"--because her hope is not
so much for herself as for her loved ones. We do reach that stage, don't we? I know God planned
it that way. Sometimes I wonder if God really had a plan for people who were getting older--but,
of course, he did--look at Sarah.
This had to be terrifying!
Looking for memories to salvage.
Such a heart-wrenching statement. But I am guessing there is total truth in that--when everything is
blown away--we look for memories to salvage. Probably a family picture is worth far more than the
blender or toaster--or a chair.
Rain blowing sideways
Another really descriptive line--I have been in those kinds of rainstorms--but not twisters as you
describe. But...no matter where you are, the forces of nature are so powerful, you ask: What is
man that You are mindful of him--just like David.
How anything survives these is a miracle in itself. Total devastation--survivors picking through the
rubble--and really? a wooden branch imbedded in the large fish's mouth. I'm surprised, yet not,
because I've heard such stories. But how we live thru them is another question.
The alliteration adds to the storm somewhere: winds/whipping/spotters/scouting/skies/watches/warnings/
weather. Well, yes, weather--I guess so!
Lots of alliteration, here, but I have a feeling, it was a little subconscious, because the storm itself
is so primary that you would just "tell it" "tell it"--now I do really like the indentation of every
other line--it looks so planned--and makes me think I should "plan" more myself--rather than just
blabbing the thoughts and whipping them onto the page. Hmmmm. You can tell ME, next time you critique
me. Springtime in the Midwest. (Sure makes me want to GO there--laughoutloud)
The sound of a freight train--magnified. You know, I've heard "survivors" tell of avalanches that way.
They could hear this terrible roar--then...the white wave. 'course that's survivors--the rest aren't
talking. Well, nature is certainly a force. I wrote a critique of Mell's poem about the river and
"felt" the force of the river--because standing there just makes me feel like a mite--a flea--so
vulnerable. When I was younger (& could run) I didn't feel that way. I felt I had a chance--but now,
nature's forces could smish me in a twinkle. Only God keeps us safe anyway. I implore Him hourly!
Thanks for a great read--an insight into this terrible force--and thank God you all survived it.
Impactful! Marcia

Bless you, Marilyn--and my condolences! Is this the newest addition to your "I Am Fred" book of
serious poetry? hoot hoot hoot! What a pleasant Eastern morning surprise for me. You are really
rolling them out, aren't you--or are you re-rolling? I know we're not supposed to copy/paste, but
it's such an easy way to cover everthing--and besides (Chris) this is short-
Who slew those
Daffies anyhoo?
Cranky old
Winter thats who
Jack Frost
Froze their
Noses a
Fiesty wind
Added to
The brew
Poor little
Daffies all
Hunched over
Looking like
An old sot
With a hangover.
Happy Easter
Title pulls me right in--immediately--I knew what "daffies" were; I have them too (of course, mine think
they live in the bananna belt compared to yours!) 'anyhoo'---what halfway-cowboy poet like myself
wouldn't appreciate that! Cranky old winter--the personification of winter, followed by the familiar
personification of frost (universally known), the froze/nose tickles my rhyme-meter. Fiesty is good
adj. for wind (how well you should know that!!!) Daffies hunched over, like cattle, horses and all
living things sort of hunch for protection--an old sot with a hangover. Happy Easter (from Wyoming!)
is such a laugh. Now, also, this narrowness on the page is something that has always attracted me--can't
tell you why, but I think it has to do with the speed that your eye can travel. When I was a kid in
Mountain View, we used to go to Salt Lake just before Easter because we had no shops in Mountain View,
and their daffies and crocuses, those little hyacinths were all up and looking so spring like. Air was
balmy--then back to Wyoming and the things you describe in your cute poem. As an aside, have you
read Tom's latest? I laughed until Jim thought he was going to have to seek outside help! Something
about Things Old Men ... Let me know by email when you read it. It was on my list last night--the elusive
list that dissolves in front of your eyes. The hologram list. Thanks for a great, uplifting read.
Happy Easter to you as well! Marcia

Tom--these "Norman Rockwell" scenes (can't help but use it again!) are your long suit. We
are inside your head the whole time, and we see you being a smart man who knows the "slaughter" to
use your word going on in the world (on every channel)--the irresponsibility of the rabbits--what a
hoot that one is! Meanwhile, you are a man with children (believers teehee) and they believe in
your hiding the eggs.
The Jews are Passover-ing.
The Christians are Resurrecting.
The Atheists are blatantly planting chocolate bunnies in plastic grass.
I worry about them.
Especially the bunnies.
At the same time, we have this unassuming assessment of the different religions--and I love what the
Atheists do--and I love that you worry about "them" and mean the bunnies! Humor is alive and well
in this piece.
I will always see you, Tom, in red plaid pajamas--sorry, but you started it, and that's just the way
my mind works--it may forget the rest, but not the red plaids. Everytime I read this it strikes me
funnier until I am laughing out loud and my husband thinks I've lost it. He looks a little 'worried'
and asks--what is it? I say--it's this poem--it is so funny and I break down laughing again. I don't
know. But there's this Royal Chaos going on, and bless your heart, you are just relishing the black
jelly beans and paying tribute to the aetheist god. (Don't forget the God of Israel--O see and taste
that the Lord is good)-I'm paraphrasing, because it's been awhile.
I can't resist copying these next two lines, because they are so good:
It died with that slow discoloration of its face.
The little green lights along the top tell the story.
I can't say enough--I shall read this again and again. (I'm waiting for a commercial to read it to my
husband--the savages are spearing the tigers right now). Marcia

Ah Marilyn--this thrills me to the BONE! As soon as I saw it was posted I HURRIED to my own new
poems list, else it would get critiqued by others and vanish out of sight! You have put the horse
to paper here, and I can feel his strength and hear your heart pounding! "weak-kneed but held..." your
stand. I can feel the emotion going clear thru me. And the fact that he muzzled your palm is just
incredible--and the fact that you dared stand there. Well it's all just action-filled, and drama--
yes you have captured the drama. "Leafless wilderness"--what a picture (of most of Wyoming--laugh!!)
but what a description--right off the bat I could see you, sense the wildness of it all--country and
horse. Ooh, yes, I have some favorite lines here too--my eyes just search them out and drink them
in--don't yours?
and a falcon skulked overhead, vulpine by
nature he dove then soared across time and
the falcon skulks and soars across time--well, go take a nap Marilyn--you deserve it! What writing--
what pictures.
the mystic peaks that prop up heaven,
This is truly inspired--I guess this has to be the favorite, but there are so many! what to do what to do
The withers of this regal mustang shivered,
withers/shiver---and so do I
eyes cloaked with doubt------that's instinct I guess.
That renegade of beauty engraved romantic
magic on a parched uncluttered plain
and the chained palisades of my heart
Here's another beauty and inspired ending. "uncluttered plain" ties us in with your opening scene
about leafless wilderness. You know I didn't know what to call that country--I was thinking "high
desert" but of course, plain is the word--the right word and the only word for this ending--
chained palisades is a thrill too. (This is gonna do good!) Whew--glad I got to comment--they
go so fast, it seems like I can't look away for a moment--my house looks like it too, but I've been
trying to find my prescription glasses and have turned everything upside down and inside out...to
no avail except the house looks like burglers went thru. Luck! Marcia

Hi Mell---you and Seamus; Seamus and you. Why don't you suggest we 'study/discuss' him next time.
I have printed some of his pieces from the internet, but right now am concentrating on L. Gluck.
The first verse here reminds me nostalgically of "amber waves of grain". Your ever-present inner-
rhymes lull me--I 'wave' in the first verse and rock with the water in the second.
"At the river, passion silts down course"---I have never heard this term used before--down stream, but
down course is fresh and makes me reach a little. (it's a good thing.) Love the dip and sway. Second
verse makes me remember standing beside a large river (like our Snake, for instance) and there is so
much power in the water and the wind and all the forces of nature that it's thrilling and frightening
at the same time. I get this again, vicariously, through your second S.
"as reed music (xlnt) serenades along river. I feel you have eliminated "little" words on purpose here,
to get the essence of the raw surroundings. It's very effective. For example "along the river" is
more me--and "along river" is more you. Leaving the "the" out paints a little of the toughness of the
outdoors--and I know it is very tough.
"A Coign of vantage"--? Well, there's a term you don't hear every day but says succinctly what you want
to say--"delivers a span of nature--wow, just chalk-full of surprising new insights and expressions for
this reader to lap up. "fragrant flueorescence with the essence"--just plain good poetry, and more
good descriptions. You want your readers to be standing there with you and you have succeeded. Stirring,
soaring--radiant effulgence.
You always leave me wanting more, Mell. This has been great fun (& I always learn something!)
Thanks---My Best, Marcia

Tom--This is priceless--you know, like the TV ad? You have painted TWO Norman Rockwells for me, spirited
me away to another time and brought my own homelife into sharp and nostalgic focus. As personal as a
car-wash, was it? Now if this were a movie I was watching, I would just sit back and get all
reminiscent-y and enjoy, but when I piece it down, you have cleverly taken the high points of the
attitude of the era and parceled out the centerpieces for us to glimpse. Reading this, I have to
laugh with tears in my eyes (& I'm serious) because whenever someone takes me back to my own talks
with my Dad, I turn to jello. I think my Dad did 'skirt' on the birds and bees with me, his daughter,
but my mother could never bring herself to. Finally, the local horse 'n' buggy (literally) town
Doctor--Doctor MacLeod called all 8 of us girls from the 8th grade together in the pews of the Masonic
Lodge and told us about menstruation. I had been "doing that" for 3 yrs. by that time, but I sat
respectfully because such were the times. Here's your Dad, giving you a book, and putting your Beetles
record on (for distraction or to make you comfortable--or to make HIM comfortable! It's just all too
funny--then you, follow suit, and tell your siblings: nothing--nothing they'd understand, following
the pattern that has been handed to you. (Can you tell I think you did a good job?)
It really comes home when your mother dies, but no one can say the word. My mother was the most absolutely
devoted mother a person could have, but never, ever told me a word about sex. Her Puritan instincts
certainly "protected" me from it, but it was never mentioned. I myself got my kids a mama kitty when
they were 6 and 8 and mama kitty had many kittens (which we gave all away to the best homes we could
find) and that's the way I taught my kids about sex. Well laugh-out-loud. But we are who we are.
I think I've wandered more into my own life than I should have, b ut just letting you know how closely
I identify with what you've said here. A really really good piece! Thanks--Best-- Marcia

Well, Andrea, you know me--I love the title aspect--(it actually works like a fourth line, doesn't
it, letting the reader in on just a little more information. I am sitting here, studying this, and
realize you actually have 2 poems--one in haiku and one free verse about the rock and the pebbles.
Interesting that you see yourself as carrying pebbles. I can go either way on this--I think I do
or have tended to carry pebbles, as though it's a lesser sin, but of course it's the thought in
the heart that counts anyway--pebbles? bullets? hate? I see myself in your additional notes but
honestly feel that I have let the pebbles go because they were--well, you know what they do. Saving
sorrowed souls in a lovely singing line, perhaps with minor chords. I do wonder why there are little
letters on outstretched--gave--but a captal S on saving. Is this a subconscious yearning on our
parts to accentuate the Saving aspect? Sorrowed souls we are--but joy lives within the same walls
as sorrow, I've found. I guess if you live long enough, you finally get something through your head.
Anyway, Andrea--a poignant expression for this Holy time of year. I thank you for posting! Marcia
Hi Andrea--this is weird--I just did a whole critique--pressed something and it's gone. It's always
hard to re-cap with exactly the same thought processes but am going to try.
I had said that there are actually 2 poems/expressions here--both equally interesting--the haiku
that is poignant and thought-provoking, very timely for this holy time of year--and the additional
notes--which tells us volumes itself!
We're all guilty in our way of carrying pebbles--but I have found that they are a tremendous burden
that my physical body cannot endure. Are they "little sins" that we think are ok? My body told me
no--let them go. My body told me, if you don't let them go, I will get very very sick. Well, I
learn everything the hard way--but sometimes a pebble works its way into my pocket anyway and I have
to consciously drop it and leave it behind. But then that's me.
I had wondered why this powerful, alliterate sentiment has a small letter on the 1st and 2nd lines,
but has a capital S on the 3rd? Is it because Saving sorrowed souls IS the power at the ending and
cries to be noticed? It intrigues me that perhaps it was subconscious. It is the Saving that I cling
to always and even though this is a wrenchingly sad theme, joy weaves its way throughout, like the
sunrise at Easter and the joy of the Resurrection. Now that's hard to capture in 3 lines but you have
done it--I guess it's because of the sunrise weaving itself through and between the lines.
My best to you, Marcia

Hi Tom--"the syrup that defies logic"---ever the physicist in you sees all things with a different,
albeit, appealing slant. You have so many vivid pictures in here, it's hard to even choose a few
favorites. Perhaps like the syrup, all steps/pictures are needed. I like your Whale Tail Pond
and your uncle Archie, names that give place and person to what's going on. The stainless steel
pails on the one hand and the dogs licking off the concrete in the next--steriley clean, earthly
not-so-clean. Life is like that, though, of course, the opposites giving contrast, It also gives
this poem 3-dimensional texture which this reader is delighted with. "The chainsaw's harvest" is
yet another seeming contradiction--that such 'waste' fuels the fire for the pure sweetness--somewhat
like the horse manure growing wonderful vegetables!
The "medicine cup"...you "hold like a chalice"--wonderful imagery--the introduction of Don, Uncle
Archie and now Mary gives personality to your story and substance to your theme.
"waiting dogs' mouths"---seems as though the critters make out pretty good--and we all know that dogs
and cats usually won't eat stuff that really isn't truly good. They smell everything first--unlike
myself who trustingly pops it into my mouth!!!
"the golden wine onto your tongue"......the nectar of the maple-gods".......the forty-to-one reduction
roils"==just excellent description and alliterative poetry here--smells, pictures, pleople,
the innards of life working hard to make something sweet from earth's yield.
"northwest winds" and "wheelbarrows" all add to the rugged work you are portaying here. Excellent
simplicity, Tom, that manages to make beautiful out of a lot of life that is not beautiful to begin
with.
then your last verse is like a little PS that you sing which is comforting in its faith and simplicity.
And last to clean your plate with your tongue. There' s a kid in all of us, isn't there, Tom.
I learned a whole lot here, and enjoyed every minute! Best, Marcia

Hi Mariyn--I can't explain it but this has brought tears to my eyes. I think it was the last
line and your reference to God.
But even before I got there, this is so what I remember about your work.
Do you live in a tree and take notes from there? (just kidding of course, but your nature observations
are always so---so---what I remember. Every line is special. And when did you write this? Just
curious.
Lets mingle in the wild and shaggy forest
see the majesty of rolling trees as
they rub against an azure sky, with
leaves that softly scrub angel wings
...the wild and shaggy forest...the rolling trees...your azure sky...but softly scrub angel wings
is best best best!
Beside the giddy brooks with
borders of lichen ophite, see
mystic splendors of cunning corridors
and rhythmic spasmodic shadows
I love your giddy brooks/borders---lichen ophite...your cunning corridors and smasmodic shadows.
You and your keyboard have really been having fun, haven't you. I know what it's like--it's like
mainlining something, probably illegal, to have that much fun!
When the flush of morning folds it's
light among shrouded thickets
hear the vibrating silence that
echoes our fain footsteps
flush/shrouded/silence/echoes/fain/footsteps--this is wrapped in chiffon! with the s and f sounds
blending together--sort of the sound the wind through trees makes. (Now Marilyn--I'm often wrong...
but isn't it "its" in this case. Nevermind, if I'm wrong, I'm wrong.
Feel a rhapsody of wind weaving
its way through steep timber tops
whispering a syncopated serenade
Lets frolic in His festival of awe
The rhapsody of wind weaving is another breezy-effect you have managed to give this piece--timber
tops/whispering/syncopated/serenade--then the frolic festival and "awe" is a summarizing word to
end this poem.
This has a songlike, breezy effect which many of your nature poems do, and is an invitation most
people, inclulding myself, will find irrisitible (or however that's spelled). LOL. Thanks, Marcia
PS--it was at the bottom of my list and I'm learning to "catch" those before they slip away!

2004-04-09 18:48:30

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